


at your perfection, in my arms

by leitmotifs (orphan_account)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Clothes Sharing, M/M, gross fluff, unestablished relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-07
Updated: 2013-08-07
Packaged: 2017-12-22 18:14:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/916448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/leitmotifs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Niall stays the night at Harry's flat, and they end up getting snowed in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	at your perfection, in my arms

**Author's Note:**

> so the prompt was:  
> Can you write a Narry one where there's a blizzard outside and they get snowed in at Harry's flat, so they cuddle and just lots of fluff!
> 
> and of course it was too cute for me to resist. uwu
> 
> also on [tumblr](http://justlogorrheic.tumblr.com/post/57641542414/at-your-perfection-in-my-arms-harry-niall)

Harry is very well aware of his tendency to roll off the bed, not only because the boys relentlessly poke fun at him for it, but also because he’s the one who wakes up with his cheek faced to the floor. So when dreams of a flamingo shoving him off a cliff, he startles awake, then waits for the inevitable contact with the floor.

A few seconds later, he cracks an eye open to discover that he’s not alone in the bed. Amidst the white pillows and blankets, Harry catches a glimpse of blond hair.

“Niall?” he says, his hazy mind struggling to piece together the situation.

Out of nowhere, a hand comes and slaps his face half-heartedly. Harry hears something like, “Stop kicking me,” coming from the human-sized lump next to him and he decides that yes, it is indeed Niall.

“What are you doing here?” Harry looks down and, upon noticing his state of nakedness, asks tiredly, “Did we have sex?”

“Don’t have to sound so disappointed about it,” Niall grouses. The lump shifts, and a pair of sleepy blue eyes peer up at Harry. “Go back to sleep.”

And Harry’s debating doing just that when he glances over the bedside table and sees the clock reading _10:49_.

“Shit!” He practically flies out of bed, earning a disgruntled moan from Niall. “We’re late, Niall!” he shouts, all sleepiness gone and replaced by panic. “We were supposed to meet the guys at the studio– Oi, don’t fall back asleep on me!”

Niall grumbles something unintelligible, probably an insult, and props his chin up on one of the pillows. He makes no move to get off the bed. “Postponed until further notice,” he tells Harry, unimpressed. “Zayn texted me this morning.”

“Why?” Harry drops the pants he’d been yanking on.

Niall hums, his eyes trailing lazily over Harry’s figure. “Maybe it’s because of the blizzard outside.”

“Blizzard?” Harry turns and opens the blinds. The glass is smudged with snow, and through it, he can see…even more snow. “Jesus.”

“Yeah, I reckon it hasn’t stopped since last night.” Niall yawns and beckons Harry towards him. “Come back to bed, Hazza.”

With Niall resembling a rumpled puppy like that, Harry really can’t say no.

Niall’s arms welcome him back, fitting around his midsection as the other boy curls up against him. Judging by the bare knees that bump his thighs, Harry thinks that they’re both naked.

“It’s cold,” Niall mumbles into his chest.

Harry relaxes against the pillows, stroking Niall’s hair idly. The blond strands are soft in his fingers. “Mm,” he agrees, “maybe it would help if you had some clothes on.”

When he gets no witty retort, Harry looks down to find that Niall has fallen back asleep, his breathing warm and steady against his chest. Harry lets his hand drift down the curve of his cheek, taking in the way he looks so peaceful; touches the corner of his lips; wonders if Niall would be all right with Harry kissing him.

Harry pulls the comforter over them, turning on his side so that they’re both curled towards each other and Niall’s hand is resting against his, their fingers touching.

Harry smiles and, before he drifts to sleep, thinks that he could get used to this.

__

Niall ambles into the kitchen a few minutes after him, and Harry greets the older boy with a bright, “G’morning,” even though it’s one o’clock in the afternoon. He’s wearing sweatpants and long sleeved shirt now, but it still feels like it’s freezing.

(He remembers last night, now: Niall had come over to hang out, but by the time he was about to leave, it had begun snowing. Harry had let him stay the night, and perhaps that’s how they ended up in his bed, but it still doesn’t explain why they were naked. He’ll ask Niall about it later.)

“It’s still snowing?” Niall asks as he slumps down at the table, rubbing his eyes tiredly. He’s wearing boxers and one of Harry’s old sweaters. It’s loose on him, hanging off a shoulder and a little over his hands. He looks – _cute_.

“It’s slowed down a little, I think.” Harry sets down two steaming mugs of hot chocolate on the counter, waving Niall over. “But there’s still a huge pile of snow blocking the front door.”

“So we’re stuck here?”

“Apparently.”

“Oh, okay.”

Niall makes a show of dragging himself to the counter, where he inspects the mugs. “Which one’s mine?”

“Don’t care.” Harry’s too busy coming up behind him, wrapping his arms around Niall’s waist, and burying his face into Niall’s neck. They’ve always been affectionate with each other, and this—well, this feels right.

“Stop swaying, you’ll make me spill it on your sweater,” Niall warns, but he sounds on the verge of a giggle, so maybe he doesn’t entirely mind.

“That means you’d have to take it off, yeah?” Harry grins against his neck.

“Unbelievable.” Niall _does_ giggle, and fuck if that isn’t the cutest thing Harry’s ever heard. He lifts one of the mugs, and Harry ceases his swaying to let him drink.

Niall takes a sip, and then nearly drops it when he recoils with a loud hiss of, “Hot!”

“Did you expect it to be cold?” Harry asks with a good natured laugh. “C’mere, Nialler.” He eases the mug from Niall’s hand, places it on the counter, then turns the boy in his arms. “You okay?”

“Half of my taste buds are dead,” Niall deadpans.

“Want me to kiss it better?” Harry jokes, except actually 1% of it is joking, and 99% of it is _I-really-do-want-to-kiss-it-better._

Niall studies him for a few seconds, and just when Harry’s starting to think that it may have been the wrong thing to say, the blond pushes himself up to his toes and kisses him.

When they pull away, Harry licks his lips. Niall had tasted like cocoa. “I wasn’t serious,” he says, “but I really liked that.”

Niall rolls his eyes. “My tongue still isn’t better,” he points out, and Harry takes that as a cue to kiss him again, this time more heatedly, complete with Niall’s arms slipping around his neck and Harry’s own hands resting on the subtle curve of Niall’s waist—and yeah, he could definitely get used to this.


End file.
